,
we slept in the dusty corners of ourselves...
My frustration weeps
on palette void of colour...
As I search through, all that remains
a violence flows within my veins...
She went to his house, thinking they were friends
Not knowing that this night, her subconscious life...
Bubbles drift up, morphing
into ridiculous shapes...
My father was not fond
of giving advice...
Fading light
darkness prevails...
... then after the violence
and after the dying...
On an Sunday morning, when the crisp fall air...
"Such were the days when once the memories of...
I have allowed hurt, fear and guilt to cripple me.
I have become socially awkward and I detest small...
One thing I have learned
in politics and in life...
She stands before her mirror
A woman well past her prime...